


A Sense of Home

by thetamehistorian



Series: All Things In Balance [6]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aphasia, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Found Family, Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin, Hurt/Comfort, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetamehistorian/pseuds/thetamehistorian
Summary: A series of one-shots based on the Comfortember prompts, set in the 'All Things in Balance' AU - aka, my wild world of Force-Sensitive Din Djarin.
Series: All Things In Balance [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604062
Comments: 166
Kudos: 356
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	1. Rescue (Din & Paz)

**Author's Note:**

> After some nagging from the lovely people over on Coffee's discord server, here I am writing yet more for this AU. I'll aim to update every couple of days, but on the basis of my workload, I can't promise daily.  
> (Now that I've started writing Force-Sensitive Din, I can't seem to stop!)  
> These stories will, for the most part, reference events and characters from the rest of the All Things in Balance series, so I would recommend reading them first or it might not make much sense!
> 
> As always, Mando'a translations can be found on hover and in the end notes for each chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> I post occassionally on [Tumblr](https://thetamehistorian.tumblr.com/)  
> Catch me hanging out on CoffeeQuill's Discord

**_Rescue - Din & Paz_ **

**_Setting: Post ‘A King’s Ransom’_ **

Din opened his eyes to darkness.

Which wasn't a good thing, thinking about it. Thankfully, it wasn’t an oppressive lack of light, there was just enough illumination that he could make out the rough forms of bricks and dust in the air through the visor.

The brief panic died down. Not blind, then.

The fact that the bricks appeared to be moving was perhaps of some concern, but even as he thought it, the worry drifted away, along with the focus in his vision and a moment later darkness took him again.

He awoke to the sound of someone calling his name.

“‘M here,” he said.

Somewhere between his brain and his mouth something must have gone wrong because he hadn’t intended for the words to slur, but they had, and he frowned in disapproval.

The person calling his name had briefly fallen silent, then he heard them again, closer this time.

“That you, _di'kut_?”

Very few people would dare to insult him like that, let alone in Mando’a. He was the _Mand’alor_ , he commanded respect.

He was currently buried under a collapsed wall.

To be fair, it was only because he’d been distracted by shoving the children, potential foundlings, away with the Force and hadn’t had time to acknowledge or act upon the warning it had sent him for himself.

“I’m not a _di'kut_.” 

The protest was once again undermined by the weakness of his reply and he tried to clear his throat but it only sent him into a short, and painful, coughing fit.

“Allow me to present a counter argument,” said the voice, louder now, closer, “you are, in fact, a _di'kut_.”

If he could have, Din would have made it clear that the use of long words was entirely unfair considering his current state, but he was too busy trying to keep his eyes open, so he settled for inflecting the name with as disdainful a tone as he could manage to express his disapproval.

“Paz,” he said.

“Oh good,” Paz replied from somewhere nearby. “You’re coherent, at least. _Me'vaar ti gar_?”

He had been floating again, he released distantly, which was also not great, but the soldier in him responded to the command from the _al’verde_ and before his brain could even engage properly his body was moving. Carefully, he tested his limbs, working out what was responding, what might be injured, and what was trapped.

“Left leg trapped,” he reported, “can move everything, no real pain.”

“Good,” Paz replied. “Anything else?”

Din paused, trying to gather his thoughts and diagnose himself with his limited medical knowledge. The odd floating sensation and vision problems were annoyingly familiar.

“Might have a concussion.”

There was a curse as some of the rubble shifted and a fresh shaft of light broke into his little bubble of darkness and rubble.

“Damn,” Paz said.

That wasn’t good, was it? Was something wrong? Maybe Paz could see something he couldn’t.

“What’s up?”

“I own Aikan twenty credits.”

Not what he’d been expecting, but he was willing to roll with it.

“Why?”

“I thought we’d have at least one more week before you banged your head again.”

Din was seriously beginning to wonder if he was worse off than he thought because surely he hadn’t heard that right.

“Not making much sense, Paz.”

There was a grunt and the rubble shifted again, then crumbled, and for a second Din was sure he was going to be crushed. Paz managed to stop it collapsing further, somehow, but Din didn’t like how the increased weight was now slightly compressing his chest.

“ _Osik_ ,” Paz repeated. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing tightly as the world shifted out of focus again. “What d’you mean, hit my head?”

“Oh,” Paz replied with a cheer that told Din he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. “Nothing, it’s just that Aikan’s got one of those board things in her office, you know, the ones with the counter, only it’s the number of days since you’ve been sent to her with a head injury. We take bets on how long it’ll be before she’ll have to reset it.”

It took Din a few seconds to work through the little speech and he was pleased to confirm that he absolutely didn’t like it. Ok, so he’d had a few problems with head injuries in the past, but surely it wasn’t a common enough occurrence to warrant a betting pool?

“How many people are in on this, exactly?”

“Most of the Nevarro covert, I think,” Paz replied. There was a moment of shuffling. “This might take a while, I’ve not got much to work with, the wall hasn’t got much structural integrity left and I don’t want to crush you.”

“‘S not like I’m going anywhere.”

Distantly, Paz snorted. His words were starting to slur again, and blinking was now longer fixing the wavering of his vision.

“Hey, _di'kut_!”

The insult drew him back into the present and he was pretty sure the gap Paz had been digging out was larger now. He could make out the blue of his _vod_ ’s armour if he titled his helmet just so.

“What?”

“No falling asleep on me, not with a head injury. You know the rules.”

“Can’t help it,” he protested because it wasn’t like he was trying to drift off, it just kept happening.

“Then keep talking.”

The final two words were phrased less as a suggestion and more as an order.

So he began to talk, about Riye, about the construction of a lightsaber because Paz had been pestering him about that one for ages, about anything that came to mind. Whenever he stumbled Paz insulted him until he was with it again then, once the hole in the rubble was big enough, his _vod_ had the audacity to poke him as well.

“ _Di'kut_. Din!”

A hard poke to his shoulder brought him back again.

“Hmm?”

“What did I say about sleeping, _vod_?”

“That ‘s for the weak,” he replied.

“Close enough,” Paz said. It took Din a moment to realise that Paz had managed to widen the gap enough to squeeze in beside him and had started to work on getting him loose. “Stay with me, Din, don’t know what’ll happen if you drop off.” Paz shifted and suddenly the pressure on his chest and leg eased. “Not that it wouldn’t be absolutely hilarious for the great _Mand’alor_ , who faced down Moff Gideon and a _darjetii_ and walked out mostly intact, to finally be killed by a karking wall of all things.”

“Wouldn’t be funny,” Din said, unable to stand the insult to his pride.

“You’re right,” Paz agreed, “it would be kriffing stupid. So don’t let it.” A hand came up and gently eased beneath the cowl at his neck. “You said you can feel everything, move everything?”

He hummed because nodding made his vision spin even more and he didn’t like it.

“Good, that means no paralysis, so your spine’s probably ok.” Paz’s fingers, even through the gloves, were oddly warm and soothing against his skin. “No pain in your neck?”

“No.”

“Alright,” Paz said, “I’ll keep your head stable, you focus on wriggling out of here, ok?”

Together, they must have made quite the picture, two Mandalorians in full armour fighting with a wall, but whatever Paz had been doing to prevent further collapse it had worked because, with Paz’s help, Din was able to shuffle out of his brick prison and into the sunlight.

Which also hurt his head, because of course it did.

It wasn’t until later, when they were back on the ship and Paz had been able to comm Aikan - much to both her delight and dismay, apparently he hadn’t been lying about either the bet or the credits he now owed the covert’s medic - with Din floating on a very different high of painkillers and bacta, that he was able to properly thank his brother for digging him out.

“Paz?”

“Yes, Din?”

“Thank you,”

“Anytime, _vod_.” Paz tapped a finger lightly against the front of his helmet. “Get some rest, Aikan’s orders.”

As Din began to drift off into the welcoming arms of sleep he caught the quiet, affectionate _di'kut_. Affection that he was sure Paz would deny to his dying day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> di’kut - idiot  
> mand’alor - sole ruler  
> me'vaar ti gar - how are you? (lit: what's new with you?) can also be used to ask a soldier for a sitrep  
> al’verde - commander  
> osik - shit  
> vod - brother/sister/comrade  
> darjetii - sith


	2. First Day/Night (Din/Marin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FYI - this is Din/OC (which I never thought I'd be writing, but here I am) and also helmet comes off in this one!  
>  _“Even in the strict, traditionalist sect that he had grown up in, it had been permitted, encouraged even, for warriors to remove their helmets amongst family. This knowledge did nothing to stop the twisting in his stomach and the trembling in his fingers.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my notes for writing this chapter literally included the line:  
> \- how do write romance??

**_First Day/Night - Din/Marin_ **

**_Setting: Post ‘Mand'alor', Pre 'Five Years Later' in A King's Ransom Chapter 9_ **

Din watched the children dancing along to the drum beat of dozens of Mandalorian fists on beskar armour in something of a daze.

In the middle of the fun, a bright beacon of colour and joy, was Marin. Her dance was not one known to the gathered covert, it certainly wasn’t a Mandalorian dance, and from what Din had gathered of Togrutan culture, it was probably a traditional dance of her own people. Either way, judging by the smile and the feelings being projected so strongly that he didn’t even need the Force bond to understand them, Riye was having the time of his life, settled neatly between Marin’s montrals.

He had been worried, at first, that Riye would hurt her, sitting like that, but Marin had waved him off with a smile and merely readjusted his son’s, _their_ son’s, hands to ensure he had a firm enough grip on her headdress.

With a thump, Cara landed heavily in the chair beside him, narrowly avoiding spilling the spotcha in her mug.

“So,” she said with a grin, “how does it feel having a Mrs. Djarin?”

He took a breath, ready to explain that it didn’t work that way, that Togruta didn’t take their spouse’s names, and that Marin’s association to the name Djarin came not from their marriage, but from her induction into his clan.

Besides, whilst Din Djarin had a nice ring to it they had both agreed that the rhyme of Marin Djarin bordered instead on comedic.

Then he caught the twinkle in Cara’s eyes and promptly shut his mouth. She was teasing him again.

In the middle of the room, the tempo was building, the dance reaching its end, and Din was temporarily distracted by the sight of Marin moving seamlessly amongst the fully armoured Mandalorians as though she had always belonged there.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Cara said with a hint of wistfulness.

“Yeah,” he replied faintly as Marin twisted again and caught hold of the children’s offered hands, “she is.”

“You’re a lucky man.” Cara took a long sip of her drink. “And an utter softie and a sap.”

“Guilty as charged.”

He thought of the white paint hidden under his armour, which he had painstakingly drawn onto his skin that morning whilst he kept one eye on Riye in case his son decided to ‘help’, of the mirror of Marin’s facial markings over his heart. Marin’s paint was proudly displayed, green jaig eyes overlapping the borders of white and deep rusty red on her forehead.

They had agreed some time ago, when Marin had first begun to think about stepping down from the council on Nova, that the simplicity of the Mandalorian marriage vows suited them both just fine, but Din had wanted to include something of her culture as well, to help her feel welcome.

So Marin had made some calls and got hold of some traditional Togrutan wedding paint and he had worn it with pride as they stood in front of the Armourer and the witnesses of the covert and took their vows.

With a resounding clamour of drums, the dance came to an end and the light caught for a moment on the pauldron adorning Marin’s shoulder, the Armourer’s wedding gift.

He’d been surprised when the Armourer had first brought the idea to him. As much as he liked the idea of Marin wearing his signet, he hadn’t expected the covert to willingly part with beskar.

“Nonsense,” the Armourer had said. “You think she will disrespect the _beskar'gam_?”

“Of course not.” 

Marin knew the value of beskar, the meaning it held, as well as he did. It was more that he had thought the foundlings would be prioritised. Whilst they had more beskar now, they still didn’t have enough for everyone.

“This is but a small piece.” The Armourer had interrupted his train of thought, a small ingot held in her hand. “Your beskar has been passed down through many generations, it has been reshaped many times, this too will one day return to the foundlings.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

Now, seeing the shining beskar, an almost exact match for the metal of her headdress, he had to admit that he did rather like the sacred armour on his _riduur_.

With the dance finished, the party was winding down. There was just one thing left to do.

Cara was watching Riye for the night, so when he reclaimed Marin from the centre of the circle, he said goodnight to Riye, handed him off to one of his favourite _ba’vodu_ and took Marin’s hand to the sound of cheers and one or two borderline crude comments - one had definitely been from Aikan who had taken an almost cruel pleasure in informing him exactly what to expect from married life - leading her out of the hall towards the rooms that were no longer his but _theirs_.

Then they were alone for the first time that day and he was facing his first night as a married man.

One thing left to do.

Even in the strict, traditionalist sect that he had grown up in, it had been permitted, encouraged even, for warriors to remove their helmets amongst family. This knowledge did nothing to stop the twisting in his stomach and the trembling in his fingers.

Marin was his _riduur_ , his _aliit_ , this was allowed.

Still, the more he thought about lifting his hands to take his helmet off, the more nervous he became.

It was strange, it made no sense even to him. He had become accustomed to being around Mandalorians with different ways of following the Creed. He had watched as members of the Nevarro tribe adapted to new ways, had seen Aikan take her helmet off with ease.

He’d even accepted losing it to Zuril, had acknowledged that its loss wasn’t to become _dar’manda_ even then.

So why was he struggling now?

“Din, _cyare_ , what is it?”

Pushing down his discomfort, he lifted his hands to his helmet, fingers fumbling to break the seal, starting to lift and stopping, with barely an inch moved, muscles locking into place and anxiety kicking abruptly back into gear.

“Oh, Din,” Marin said as she picked up on what he was wrestling with.

Her hands came up to cradle his, not pushing, not manipulating, just holding, encasing him in her warmth.

“Take as long as you need,” she said.

He let out a shaky breath and relaxed a little in the face of her patience as he tried to work out what it was that was preventing him from doing this, whether it was a hangover from his upbringing or something else.

What if she doesn’t like what she sees?

The thought went as quickly as it came, but Din chased it, because this, this stray thought, he realised, was the root of his fear, not his beliefs.

Marin had fallen in love with him, yes, but she didn’t really know him, she had never really seen him, and he was worried, he finally acknowledged, that she would be disappointed by the reality.

In his turmoil he must have dropped his shields and something slipped through because in an instant, Marin’s Force presence was wrapped around him.

“Din, _cyare_ ,” she said softly, “you’re beautiful.”

“You don’t know that,” he protested.

A hint of fond exasperation bled through the bond.

“Din, look at me.” He lifted his eyes to meet his wife’s gaze. “You’re beautiful - no don’t protest - let me show you how I see you.”

A nudge on the bond, a request.

Hesitantly, he let her in, dropping the last of his shields and he was flooded with the depth of her love and affection and, underneath it all, an image, an impression.

It was _warm_ , warm and strong, it was the calm before the storm, the power of lightning, the grace of reeds blowing in the wind, the gentleness of water flowing down a stream, the warmth of the sun, all wrapped in a golden glow.

It was overwhelming and it was beautiful.

“This is how I see you, _cyare_.”

His hands scrambled, yanking his helmet off and dropping it with much less care than normal as he pulled Marin close and claimed her lips, trying, desperately, to communicate the strength of his own love for her and how he saw her in the Force - a rock in a stormy sea, the wisdom of experience, colour in darkness, the glow of her sabers, the grace of a queen.

She was both soft and firm. She tasted of _tihaar_ , and _uj’alayi_ , and something sweet yet tangy that was uniquely Marin.

Eventually, he had to pull back for air and he rested his forehead against hers, a keldabe kiss, skin to skin.

“Hello,” she said softly against him.

“Hello,” he replied, breathlessly.

He pulled back and for the first time, met her eyes without the barrier of the visor. Her hands came up slowly to cup his face and he found himself hoping that his helmet hadn’t messed up his hair too much. At least he’d taken the time to neaten up his beard that morning -

“ _Mesh’la_ ,” she said, not breaking eye contact for a moment. “Beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations  
> beskar’gam - armour  
> riduur - partner/spouse/husband/wife  
> ba’vodu - aunt/uncle  
> aliit - family/clan  
> dar’manda - a state of not being Mandalorian - one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditional-minded Mandalorians  
> cyare - beloved  
> tihaar - alcoholic drink - strong clear spirit made from fruit, like eau de vie  
> uj’alayi - uj cake - dense, very sweet flat cake made of ground nuts, syrup, pureed dried fruit and spice  
> mesh’la - beautiful


	3. Nightmare (Din & Riye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Din wasn’t entirely sure what woke him at first, only that one moment he’d been completely out of it and the next his body had been flooded with fear so intense it had awoken instincts that had slowly become dormant in the peaceful village on Nova."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some father/son bonding coming up in these next few prompts!  
> (In which Riye sees some of the events of A King's Ransom in a vision and panics)

_**Nightmare - Din & Riye** _

_**Setting: Between 'Forces Beyond Our Control' and 'That Which You Seek'** _

Din wasn’t entirely sure what woke him at first, only that one moment he’d been completely out of it and the next his body had been flooded with fear so intense it had awoken instincts that had slowly become dormant in the peaceful village on Nova.

With a gasp, he went from replete to sitting in an instant, one hand under his pillow going for the knife he kept there, the other for the blaster in his belt on the floor, discarded well within reach, ready to defend his clan against the threat.

It was, at least, dark enough that he didn’t immediately worry about his helmet, stored on the bedside table.

Even with the lack of light, he recognised his son, stood in the doorway. He was as familiar with the sound of the little one’s footsteps as he was his own and with every moment he could feel the bond flaring more and more to life.

“Riye?” he asked, stopping his hand short of the blaster and instead holding it out as an offering of comfort.

“ _Buir_.”

Riye sounded far more awake than he should be at this time of night and it was the push that Din needed to wake fully and finally recognise the source of the fear filling his senses.

Quiet footsteps pattered closer and a moment later Riye was reaching up to be held.

Tucking the knife back safely beneath his pillow, he lifted his son into his arms, frowning at the slight tremble running through his son's small form.

“What’s wrong, _ad’ika_?” he asked.

The only reason he had lowered his guard was because Riye’s distress had felt distant, not immediate, and his own senses hadn’t alerted him to a nearby threat, so the question remained, what had scared Riye enough to bring him here?

“Dream,” Riye said into his neck.

“You had a bad dream?” he asked, hoping he was catching onto the right meaning.

Riye’s vocabulary was growing fast now, but it was still limited that Din often relied on feedback and impressions from the Force bond between them to understand his son properly.

Only, right now Riye’s mind was a mess of scattered images and thoughts, and nothing was coming through clearly.

“Not dream,” Riye said.

“Not a dream?” he asked. “What do you mean, _ad’ika_? It wasn’t a bad dream?”

“Was bad.”

“But not a dream?”

“Not dream.”

Din floundered for a moment, trying to work out what Riye was trying to say, when something from one of Marin’s lectures came back to him.

“Was it from the Force, Riye?”

Although still subdued and snuggling close, Riye perked up a little as he followed that line of thought.

“Yes, _buir_ , from Force.”

Marin had told him once that the Force, whilst not exactly made up of different sides, had elements to it that people were often drawn to more than others, or found easier to use. Riye, for instance, was showing all the signs of becoming a strong healer, whilst he, once he’d worked out how to, was apparently unusually skilled at mental shielding.

Beyond the visions he had seen in the caves on Nova, Din had not shown any particular predilection for precognition or visions. It seemed his son was not so lucky.

“A vision?”

Riye hummed an acknowledgement into his shoulder and unconsciously, Din tightened his arms so that Riye was firmly enveloped in his embrace. Whatever the vision had shown his son, it had clearly shaken him.

“Bad,” Riye repeated quietly.

Din remembered how the things he had seen in his own visions had often come true, though not always in the way he had expected.

There was a chance that this was a warning, or a message. 

“Can you tell me what you saw?” he asked.

Riye made a noise that Din never wanted to hear him make again, a kind of mix between a sob, a whimper, and an expression of grief and genuine pain.

“You hurt,” Riye finally mumbled into his shirt as Din did his best to rub a comforting hand up and down his back. “You gone.”

Then, images, confused and disjointed, of him fighting someone with a red lightsaber, of second-hand pain through a stretched and faint connection, before it winked out entirely.

The full force of the emotions his son had been enduring overflowed and Din was suddenly choking back tears against the fear, the grief, the loss, the underlying anger.

“Riye,” he managed, “ _ad’ika_ , shields, please.”

Slowly, the sensation faded until he could once again separate his own feelings from his sons.

“Bad,” Riye said.

Din took a moment to organise his thoughts. He had known, of course, that they would inevitably have to have this conversation. Riye was older than him, and barely a toddler in comparison.

He knew, from the data they had retrieved from the ruined _jetii_ temple on Coruscant that Riye would long outlive him.

But, first, he could give his son some comfort.

“Do you remember what Marin said about visions?”

“Tricky,” Riye offered, calming under the duel pressure of his presence and his embrace.

“That’s right,” he said. “What you see in visions isn’t set in stone. Sometimes, it’s just a possible future.”

“You still hurt,” Riye insisted.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But maybe not. Maybe, I beat the bad man, maybe what you felt was just because I was far away so you couldn’t reach me, in here.” He tapped his son’s nose and got a wet and shaky giggle, but a giggle nonetheless. “Maybe what you felt was just me shielding, and that’s why I went quiet.”

“You shield?” Riye asked.

Din pulled back a little, placing some distance between his presence and his sons, and slowly built up his shields until Riye lifted his head to make sure he was still there.

“See?” he said. “Just like this. I’m still here, I’m just hiding.”

“Like game?”

Din felt something in his chest release as Riye’s curiosity finally overpowered the lingering effects of the vision.

“Sure, like hide and seek, just in our heads.”

“Hide and seek!”

Riye bounced a little in his arms and Din was suddenly reminded that once his son was awake, it took quite a lot to get him back to sleep and it was still the early hours of the morning, judging by the light of the stars through the window.

At least, he would like to get a little more sleep. He’d been sleeping better lately, and his body had taken to reminding him that it quite enjoyed having the intended amount of rest to function upon, rather than the elongated naps he’d been running on for the last few years.

“Not now, _ad’ika_ ,” he said.

“Wanna play!”

“Everyone else is sleeping, Riye, it would be rude to wake them.”

Riye whined in disappointment, but thankfully settled down again, apparently content to play with his hair instead for now.

Still, Din felt like he needed to say it, to get it out there.

“Even if what you saw was true,” he began, choosing his words with great care, “you wouldn’t be alone, you know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t want you to go,” Riye protested and Din could sense an oncoming tantrum if he wasn’t careful.

“I don’t want to go,” he soothed. “And I’ll do everything I can not to, but one day, a long way away, it might happen. If it does I want you to know that you wouldn’t be alone. You’d have your _ba’vodu_ Cara, and the Covert, and Marin and they all love you and would look after you if I couldn’t, ok?”

As he spoke, he dropped his shields again and did his best to project his love and care and desire never to lose at his son, to reassure him that he would never willingly leave him like that.

Riye struggled for a moment and then, thankfully, settled.

“Ok,” he said quietly and whilst Din could feel that it wasn’t quite acceptance, it was at least agreement. “Love you.”

“I love you too, _ad’ika_.”

Normally, Riye slept in his own room, now that they no longer needed to huddle together for warmth in the Crest whilst floating in the cold of space.

Riye sleeping separately had been one of his first steps in learning how to be apart from his son.

Tonight, Din decided, he could make an exception. Rather than get up, he instead tucked Riye in properly in the crook of his arm and they drifted back to a peaceful sleep holding each other tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations  
> buir - father/mother/parent  
> ad'ika - little one/son/daughter


	4. Anxiety (Din & The Child)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He had formally adopted the child, which meant that until he could find his real family, he was essentially the kid’s father._   
>  _Only, he had no idea how to look after a child, let alone one that was from a species no one had heard from, that was older than him by over a decade yet barely a toddler developmentally, not to mention the jetii powers the kid seemed to have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din learns how to dad, one step at a time.

**_Anxiety - Din & The Child_ **

**_Setting: Immediately Post Chapter 8 'Redemption' and 'After the Storm'_ **

He awoke to small hands on his bare face and for a moment there was nothing except full-body overwhelming panic that his helmet was off, someone had seen his face -

Then the child began to babble and the memories bled back in. The fight, the disorientation, the way his brain no longer accepted certain words - his breath caught a little at that still - the words of the adoption vow that he had spoken to accept the child as his own.

His child.

“Hey there,  _ ad’ika _ ,” he said, forcing tired eyes open and look down at the small bundle of green and brown cloth that was curled up in his arms, resting against the cold firmness of his beskar chestplate.

Surely that couldn’t be comfy?

The kid didn’t seem to mind, making small noises as he snuggled back into his embrace, ears brushing against his chin as he settled. He almost jumped at the touch. It was going to take some time to get used to feeling something other than his own hands on his exposed face.

Taking a few slow breaths, he waited until his heart rate to calm before he lifted a hand to brush gently across the child’s small head in return. Judging by the happy noise he received in return, it was the right thing to do.

As much as he’d love to stay right where he was, he knew that there were things he needed to do and couldn’t afford to keep putting off.

Making sure that he kept a steadying hand on the child’s back he leaned forward, hesitating when the muscles in his back and the still-healing ribs protested the movement, and reached for the controls of the Crest.

He pulled up the nav and checked the fuel gage. After leaving Nevarro he hadn’t exactly had a destination in mind; he had no real leads on the child’s kind or where they might be found so they had ended up sort of free floating in empty space, far enough away from the main shipping lanes to not be noticed.

For now, they had enough fuel and power, though he would need to work out a plan fairly soon, but there was time enough for another quick nap.

Or there would have been if the child hadn’t made a new noise against him, a whine almost, a sound that tugged at his heartstrings and awoke instincts that he had long buried deep, and the reality of his situation came abruptly crashing down around him.

He had formally adopted the child, which meant that until he could find his real family, he was essentially the kid’s father.

Only, he had no idea how to look after a child, let alone one that was from a species no one had heard from, that was older than him by over a decade yet barely a toddler developmentally, not to mention the  _ jetii  _ powers the kid seemed to have.

He’d been running on luck and hope since he had gone back for the kid on Nervarro and he’d rarely been alone, but now there was no Omera, no IG-11, no Kuill to turn to - another pang in his chest at the remembered losses - and Din didn’t know what to do.

The kid whined again, louder, upset about something.

What did that noise mean? It didn’t sound good, or happy. Was the kid hungry, or tired, or hurt? No, he wasn’t hurt, he’d checked after Cara had left, and he’d just slept, so maybe he was hungry?

What did he eat? He’d eaten frogs, whole at that, so he must be a carnivore, or did he have a specific diet? Would some things hurt him if he ate them? How often did he need to eat? He’d have to stock up on food at the next opportunity he realised, he barely had enough for himself on board and now he had another mouth to feed.

Oh  _ Manda _ , how was he going to afford the things he would need? He could hardly carry on his work as a bounty hunter with a child in tow, it wasn’t safe.

He had a stash of emergency credits, of course, but it wouldn’t last long and now he couldn’t fall back on the covert for support.

_ Echoy’la _ , the covert.

So many names to add to his remembrances, and all of their deaths on him.

Another whine, drawn out, and he forced the grief away to focus on the immediate problem before his thoughts could spiral further.

“What.” His voice cracked on the word and he swallowed, tried again. “What is it, kid?”

No response, of course. The child hadn’t spoken yet, he was probably too young.

Instead, he got another whine as the kid tried to burrow in even closer, as though expecting comfort, but Din couldn’t even tell what was wrong, he had no idea where to even begin. He was a bounty hunter, this, looking after a child, was way out of his realm of experience.

The kid was hurting but all he knew how to do was to cause pain.

What had he been thinking, he couldn’t do this -

A rumble made him look down, startled, and he found the child had paused, also surprised, mythosaur pendant still in his small mouth as his stomach rumbled.

There was a moment when they just stared at each other, both caught off guard by the new noise, then he felt something loosen within him and laughter bubbling up.

“Hungry then, huh?” he managed between hysterical chuckles.

He had heard once that laughter was catching and now, with the kid giggling with him, hunger pangs completely forgotten in the face of an unexpected outburst of joy, he began to believe it.

Securing the kid firmly in his arms, he stood and headed towards the cockpit door.

“Let’s see what we can do about that, right kid?”

The small kitchen had always served him well, but he suspected that he was going to have to make some changes to his living arrangements in order to accommodate the small green alien that he now called ‘son’.

Propping the kid against his hip, he rummaged through cabinets one-handed, suddenly glad for the practice all of the times he’d been injured had granted him at working with limited mobility. 

He knew he had some dried, spiced meat strips back here somewhere and a moment later his hand closed on the packet, right at the back of the cupboard.

Tearing it open with his teeth, he watched as the child perked up at the smell of food.

“It’s not a frog, I’m afraid,” he said as he carefully set the child down on the counter so that he could tear the strips into chunks more appropriate for a kid, not that size had stopped the child before, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

He held out a piece and the child took it eagerly, sniffing it before shoving it into his mouth with a pleased sound.

“Good?” he asked.

The kid held out a hand, clearly asking for more and Din felt himself relax further as the kid happily worked through the remainder of the strip.

Then, after a few more pieces the child took one from his hand and, to his confusion, held it up towards him.

“You done?”

A frown and a whine and the hand jerked more insistently towards him, as though the child was trying to tell him something.

A moment later, realisation struck.

“For me?”

He pointed at his own chest and got a happy noise and a firm nod. Slowly, still uncertain, he reached out to take the piece and popped it in his own mouth. The child watched carefully as he chewed but it wasn't until he swallowed that he let out a happy chirp and reached for more for himself.

Din did his best to ignore the warm, choked sensation in his chest and throat at the child’s thoughtfulness as they shared the rest of the strips together.

He was a bounty hunter, yes, but he was a Mandalorian first and foundlings were the future.

Maybe he could do this after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> Manda - the collective soul or heaven (the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like)  
> echoy'la - mournful/grieving/lost


	5. Cuddling (Din & The Child)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The small number of guides he had managed to obtain on raising children had all impressed upon him the importance of regular routine and whilst, with his lifestyle, he couldn’t give the kid the sort of routine that the books recommended, he could at least use the ships internal clock to keep something of a daily schedule when he could for meal times, naps, and bedtime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din continues to learn how to dad, one step at a time.

**_Cuddling - Din & The Child_ **

**_Setting: Immediately Post 'Anxiety'_ **

The Razor Crest wasn’t the warmest place. It had originally been designed as a short haul cargo ship and hadn’t exactly been intended to contain living quarters of any sort.

When the Crest had first come to him, Din had saved up credits until he had enough to make some adjustments to the ship’s design in order to accommodate both a carbonite freezer for his bounty hunting work, and then enough amenities that long term travel, whilst not necessarily the most comfortable, was at least possible. And he had managed quite happily with the ship’s redesign for years.

He looked between his small bunk and the child settled comfortably into the crook of one arm and began to wonder if it might be worth making further adjustments to the living arrangements on the Crest so that the child had his own bed.

For now though, with the temperature dropping as the ship powered down non-essential systems to save on fuel, the kid was going to have to sleep next to him.

After they had finished consuming the small packet of dried meat strips, the child had seemed quite content to continue chewing on the mythosaur pendant and playing with the metal ball from the main controls whilst Din sat down in the pilot’s chair and began to properly plan for the next supply run so that he could get what he thought he would need to look after the little one.

Once his pre-set timer had altered him that the appropriate amount of time had passed, he had started preparations for the night, beginning with a warm bath for the kid in the kitchen sink that had inevitably resulted in more water getting on himself than on the child.

For something so small, he certainly had an impressive skill at splashing water everywhere.

The small number of guides he had managed to obtain on raising children had all impressed upon him the importance of regular routine and whilst, with his lifestyle, he couldn’t give the kid the sort of routine that the books recommended, he could at least use the ships internal clock to keep something of a daily schedule when he could for meal times, naps, and bedtime.

Hence why he was turning in for bed earlier than usual.

The space he had turned into his bunk was just long enough for him to stretch out straight if his helmet was against the hull and his boots brushed the door. He had to detach the little storage pockets from the end of the bunk if he wanted to lie flat, and he did so automatically, stuffing them against the side of the bed.

With swift movements, he stripped off the biggest pieces of his armour, setting them against the wall, tucking his helmet at the end in easy reach. He could, and had, slept with his armour on before, but he tended to wake stiff and sore so where possible he took at least some of it off to sleep.

A tap on his bracer shut the door, effectively sealing them inside - small spaces were easier to keep warm after all - and the kid made a small, curious noise from his arms but didn’t seem distressed.

Then, he carefully set the child down between the padding of the storage pouches and the bulk of his own body and tucked the spare blanket he had dug out of one of the storage bags around the kid’s small form.

Laying down, he settled on his side so he could keep an eye on the child, and waited.

It didn’t take long for the kids eyes and ears to start drooping and he watched as he fought valiantly against sleep. Eventually, the child’s eyes closed and stayed shut and Din held his breath, ready to celebrate a small milestone in his journey towards parenthood, but then the kid awoke abruptly with a small unhappy noise and a little shiver and began to fight against the blanket.

“Kid?” he asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

The child continued to battle the blanket and babble and once he was free enough to move, wriggled closer to his side.

Din’s hand hovered, ready to catch him should he trip as the kid settled down again, tucked up against firmly the fabric of his shirt. Din slowly let his hand fall back down onto the thin mattress.

“Are you cold?” he wondered out loud, trying to work out what had prevented the child from staying asleep.

He didn’t know much about the needs of his  _ ad _ ’s species, let alone what sort of temperatures were comfortable for them, and if this was something he could fix to ensure his child was comfortable and make the planned routine of naps easier, then he would do it.

The child looked up at him, responding to the sound of his voice but he was once again met with unintelligible noises, head tilting at the end of a series of noises as though in question.

He was, he decided, going to have to find a way to communicate with the child properly. Based on his reactions, he was pretty sure that the kid understood a fair amount of what he was saying, but simply didn’t have a way to talk back.

Perhaps, the idea occurred, he could try to teach the child some basic sign language.

Reaching down he adjusted the kid so that he could free both of his hands and ensure that the child could see them.

“Cold?” he repeated, this time with an exaggerated and accompanying sign.

The child watched his hands move curiously and to his delight, after a moment he tried to replicate the movement. Din repeated it a few times until the kid seemed to have gotten the gist of it, then he tried a different sign, this time the one for warm.

The change in motion seemed to throw the child initially, but after alternating a few times, Din felt that the child was beginning to understand.

This time, when he repeated the symbol for cold, he pressed his hand briefly against the hull behind his head, the coldest part of the room, and then tapped the child on the nose, which wrinkled a little to accompany the tiny shiver.

“Cold, see?”

Warm was accompanied by a similar routine, only this time he warmed his hand against his own skin before brushing along the kid’s ear.

“This is warm, you got it?”

After a few more repetitions, with the child becoming more enthusiastic and clear each time, he tried asking again.

“Are you cold,” a finger pointed at the kid and the accompanying sign, “or warm?” Another sign.

The kid frowned and after a small pause, he got the sign for warm back, and whilst he couldn’t be certain that the child had understood, he hadn’t repeated both signs as he had been doing before so maybe he had worked it out.

So, if he wasn’t cold, why had he woken up? 

Before he could begin to work on that puzzle, a small clawed hand suddenly caught hold of his fingers and he jumped a little at the unexpected touch before looking down to see the kid once again snuggling in close, tugging at his hand to draw him closer.

Oh.

Hesitantly, he let the child pull his arm in until his small form was trapped between the warmth of his chest and the curve of his arm.

He wasn’t cold, he realised, he wanted a hug.

Tears were suddenly prickling at the corners of his eyes and he couldn’t really explain why. The idea that this small, innocent boy felt safe enough to be this close to him, to seek out comfort from his embrace, hadn’t even occurred to him.

How long had it been since he had held someone like this? Months? Years?

Against him, the child made a quiet, contented noise and, a few minutes later, was once again firmly asleep.

For a while Din just laid there, awed eyes fixed on the bundle of green held in his arms, trusting and happy enough to fall asleep in his grasp, slightly overwhelmed. With each minute that passed with no sign that the child was going to wake up again, he began to relax into the simple touch. 

Against his chest, he could feel the slow rise and fall of the baby breathing and he found himself curling around his small form protectively, feeling calmer than he had in a long time.

“Sleep well,  _ ad’ika _ ,” he whispered as he let his own eyes fall shut.

It was the best sleep he’d had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations  
> ad - child/son/daughter


	6. Afraid To Sleep (Din & Cobb)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Arriving in Mos Pelgo, he had dared to hope that he might yet find a Mandalorian. There was recognition in the Weequay’s eyes. His armour was familiar to them.  
>  Only, he didn’t get a Mandalorian, he got Cobb Vanth.  
> And a krayt dragon.  
> Because of course he did. Sometimes he wondered if the Force enjoyed putting him these sorts of situations, if it had a sense of humour._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Chapter 9 'The Marshal'.  
> This is slightly AU, set after 'A Kings Ransom', where Din is trying to find Mandalorians not to return the child to his child, but to reunite the scattered Mandalorian people.

**_Afraid To Sleep- Din & Cobb_ **

**_Setting: During ‘Chapter 9: The Marshal', Post 'A King's Ransom'_ **

It had been a day.

Din had started out hopeful, he had successfully eliminated another of the pariahs preying upon his people and had a location for a possible Mandalorian, maybe even a covert, that they had not previously known about on Tatooine.

Riye had been delighted to see Peli again, though Din was pleased to see how easily Riye fell into his role of playing younger than he was. It was like a game to them and it ensured that any strangers with nefarious purposes would be unprepared for the force of nature that was his son when the act dropped.

As he left for Mos Pelgo on a borrowed speeder, Din had made a mental note to have a talk with Peli about the lightsaber tucked into the back of her belt.

If it wasn’t hers, it was none of his business, if it was, he could put her in touch with Marin if she wanted.

Arriving in Mos Pelgo, he had dared to hope that he might yet find a Mandalorian. There was recognition in the Weequay’s eyes. His armour was familiar to them.

Only, he didn’t get a Mandalorian, he got Cobb Vanth.

And a krayt dragon.

Because of course he did. Sometimes he wondered if the Force enjoyed putting him these sorts of situations, if it had a sense of humour.

Now, at the day’s end, he sat by the fire attempting to negotiate the hostile feelings between the marshal and the Tusken people without ending up in the middle of a fight.

Finally, the tension began to subside as some of the Tuskens headed to their tents to turn in for the night, Riye, tucked neatly between his legs, was basking in the warmth of the fire. He took a moment to check on his son properly, reaching easily for the bond between them with a skill born of years of practice and slipped into a mental conversation with ease.

‘Are you alright, _ad'ika_?’

‘Yes! Did I trick them, _buir_?’

‘You’ve got them all fooled.’ A sensation of happiness at the praise. ‘I’ll make sure you get extra _uj'alayi_ when we get home.’

It was the least Riye deserved for being so patient and behaving so well.

‘Can I train with _buir_ too?’

Slowly, Din tipped his head down until he met the pleading gaze of his _ad_. Riye had made no secret of his desire to start learning katas with Marin and whilst in principle Din knew it was a good idea, in practice he didn’t really want to let his son near a lit saber just yet.

‘Please?’

Damn it.

‘Alright,’ he sighed and he imagined that the sensation that followed was the mental equivalent of a cheer and he winced a little at its strength, ‘but only with practice sabers.’

Riye’s excitement dulled slightly at that but after a moment of thought he agreed to the stipulation.

A rough noise brought his attention back to the Tusken sat across from him, and he listened and watched as the Tusken offered them two of the spare tents for the night.

He signed back a word of thanks, foregoing the vocalisations because his throat had started to hurt and he suspected he’d need to speak more of the harsh language the following day. For now, he would spare his voice.

Satisfied, their host left for bed leaving only the sentries on guard and their small group of three by the fire.

Vanth had been watching the interactions between them for a while and Din could sense his confusion, not just at being left out of the conversation, but likely also at his knowledge of the Tusken language.

“We’ve been offered tents,” he said simply, pointing out the appropriate one.

“Right,” Vanth said after a moment but he made no move to get up.

For a marshal, the man was pretty bad at concealing his emotions. Back at the cantina, behind the Mandalorian helmet his facial expressions had been hidden, but even then he had been broadcasting fairly strongly.

Din certainly wouldn’t have needed nearly as much training in the Force as he had received to pick up on Vanth’s feelings at any given moment.

“There a problem?” he asked.

He figured it was best to address this head-on. Cobb Vanth wasn’t a bad man, he could tell them much from his presence in the Force, and even if certain parts of his story earlier in the day had been omitted he hadn’t outright lied to him.

Right now, he was a mess of conflicting emotions. His fear was easy enough to pick up on, trepidation at being amongst those he had for so long seen as enemies, there was a bit of lingering anger there, curiosity as well.

And beneath it all, a small well of hope, that this alliance, whatever it was, might actually work out and save his town from the krayt dragon’s destructive hunger.

“Forgive me if I’m a little cautious about letting my guard down here,” Vanth replied.

Din reiterated the settlement they had reached earlier.

“They won’t hurt you unless you attack them first.”

“Still,” Vanth said, fidgeting a little. “This isn’t a situation conducive to a good night's sleep.”

Din just hummed in reply because he could understand that, but he sensed that Vanth had something else he wanted to get off his chest so he waited rather than turning in for the night himself.

“How’d you know the language, might I ask?”

Looking away from the fire, Din took a moment to consider his reply.

“It’s not so different from the sign language used by Mandalorians,” he said. “There’s a lot of crossover.”

“Huh,” said Cobb, “fancy that. You think they’ve got similar roots?”

“Probably,” he agreed absently.

“And the,” Cobb paused, hand waving vaguely as he tried to find the right word, “noises?” he settled on.

“Picked up over the years from various negotiations.”

Cobb fell silent again beside him as he considered that.

“You interact with them a lot, then?”

Din could hear the unasked question as to how a Mandalorian who should, by all means, be a juicy target to a group usually characterised as raiders, end up friendly with them.

He could avoid answering of course, and under other circumstances he might have done, but the Force was nudging him and he’d learned to listen. There was a reason for the questions. Cobb Vanth wanted to understand. He was willing to put aside his prejudices and learn.

Maybe something more positive in the long-term could come out of this.

“We’re not so different,” he said and Cobb jumped a little at the sudden sound of his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“The Tuskens and my people, Mandalorians.”

Cobb frowned, and Din could practically hear the bogs turning in his mind.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“The Empire didn’t take kindly to us,” he said simply. “Mandalorians are a warrior people, and one that had pursued neutrality before the war. Put simply, we were a threat. Mandalore wasn’t safe so we became nomadic, living in small tribes, often having to move a short notice, and finding what work we could, sometimes stealing to ensure we could feed the children.” Beside him, he could feel Cobb’s confusion fading into something more contemplative and somber. “We had to hide to survive, and many of us chose to hide our faces intentionally as well, to conceal our identity so they would never know our true numbers. Now, even with the Empire gone for the most part, we are still hunted for our beskar, entire tribes wiped out. Our life is not an easy one.”

Cobb was silent for a few moments as his words sunk in.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he offered.

“That’s why,” Din said simply, hoping his point had been made. “Because I’ve been where they are. It’s not for me to judge that which I don’t understand, or what persecuted people do to survive, and I’m willing to give them the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.”

Cobb sucked in a breath but after a moment he nodded and accepted the slight rebuke for what it was.

For a few minutes, they watched the dying fire together in silent contemplation as the suns finished setting.

Once the second sun disappeared beneath the horizon he stood, picking up Riye who had been dropping slowly into sleep for a few minutes now, and took a couple of steps towards one of the free tents before pausing, turning back to Cobb at the fireside.

They had made progress, that was for sure, but as the saying went, Sundari wasn’t built in a day and Din knew from personal experience that prejudices and uncertainties weren’t so easily overcome.

Besides, if they were going to fight a krayt dragon tomorrow, he’d rather Cobb was well rested.

“You’re welcome to join us, if it would help.”

Cobb stood, looking more than a little sheepish as his eyes flitted around the camp, catching on the sentries with a guarded look.

“If that’s alright with you?”

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.”

Cobb broke into an endearing smile that had just a little touch of the cocky confidence Din had seen in the cantina.

“Alright partner, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

As he led Cobb towards the tent Din shook his head slowly and sighed.


	7. Blanket Fort (Paz & Alema)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Paz lay back on his folded arms and stared up at the ceiling as though it had all of the answers._   
>  _There was, he mused, something different about Alema._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, to my surprise, the first time I've written in this fandom from a POV that wasn't Din's! This is also the first chapter without Din as a main character so I hope it works!

**_Blanket Fort - Paz & Alema_ **

**_Setting: Between Chapters 4 & 5 of 'A King's Ransom'_ **

Paz lay back on his folded arms and stared up at the ceiling as though it had all of the answers.

There was, he mused, something different about Alema.

When Din had turned up to answer the Armourer’s call, they had expected him to arrive with the shock trooper, but they absolutely hadn’t expected the skittish little Twi’lek.

Djarin had taken the time, once she was safely settled with the foundlings, to explain her situation to them and the story of how he had come to be her temporary guardian, so he knew that she had been through what had to be an immensely traumatic experience. The loss of her family was not something that she would recover from quickly or easily.

She had been shy at first, curious but shy, so he had been gentle in drawing her out from behind Din’s legs and had let her explore the near matching colour of his armour without complaint about the aching in his knees.

Now, with Djarin running off after leads and the _beroya_ ’s own foundling, Riye, staying with the Armourer, Paz had taken it upon himself to invite Alema into his rooms for the duration. She had looked so lost when Din had announced his intention to go hunting the _darjetii_ , and part of Paz had wanted to punch the man for so quickly forgetting about her, but then again, with Din’s foundling having _jetii_ powers he could, perhaps, understand why this mission would be a priority to the _beroya_. 

After all, technically, Alema wasn’t Din’s foundling, not yet. He would have said if he had spoken the vow.

Still, there was something different about Alema that went beyond the effects of the trauma of her recent experience and loss, and beyond the effects of a period of time spent with the disaster that was Din Djarin as a parental figure.

Something that made him wonder if she wasn’t more like Riye than Din was willing to admit.

His musing was broken by an almighty crash for the room next door. His blaster was in his hand and he was halfway out of the door before he even thought to grab his helmet because the noise had come from Alema’s room.

Shoving the helmet on his head he rushed out, ready for any intruder who might be trying to hurt a foundling of the covert, not caring that he wasn’t wearing his armour, nor that his only weapon beyond his pistol was the vibroblade tucked into his belt because he might well have been part of the heavy weapons unit but he could certainly pack a punch when he needed to.

The door flew open at his touch and he saw the source of the crash immediately. Some of the larger and heavier trinkets that had been on the shelf were now scattered across the floor, a few of them in pieces, and it took him a moment to spot Alema, curled up in the corner, partially hidden behind the bed and quietly sobbing.

“ _Kebiin’ika_?” he asked, dropping his gun as he worked out from his quick scan of the room that there was no external threat.

Alema looked up briefly at the familiar nickname, but just as quickly hid her gaze back into her knees.

Paz took a moment to look around and get a more complete picture of the situation. The ruffled sheets suggested that she had been asleep, albeit fitfully, the broken ornaments from the shelf, however, could surely have only one explanation.

There had been a few times when Din’s foundling had done things like this whilst having nightmares, had lashed out with his _jetii_ powers and thrown items around the room. He had heard Din warning the Armourer about the perils of raising a _jetii_ foundling.

Alema, he understood now, was most likely _jetii_ too.

And Din had left her behind with no one around who knew about her abilities and might have been able to support her, the _di’kut_.

“It’s ok,” he said softly, lowering himself down to a crouch so that he was on her level again, ignoring the protest of his knees to the best of his ability. “Did you have a nightmare?”

After a moment, he got a shy nod.

“I didn’t mean to break anything.”

Her voice sounded small and wobbly and it tore at his heartstrings because _of course_ she hadn’t meant to. That should be obvious.

“I know you didn’t,” he said, inching forward and offering her a hand just like he had done on that first day. “You were scared, and sometimes we do things we don’t mean to do when we’re scared.” Like, he thought, try to beat a certain _beroya_ to a pulp for something that, upon reflection, hadn’t entirely been his fault. “I’m not angry, I just want to make sure that you’re alright.” Some of the broken trinkets did have sharp edges after all.

“Promise?” she mumbled.

“Promise what, _kebiin’ika_?”

“Promise you’re not angry?” 

Oh, Paz was going to have words with whoever had made her think that this show of power that had clearly been beyond her control was something to expect punishment for. Regardless of whether or not she had been targeted for her powers, making her afraid of them wasn’t going to help with her control over them in any way, shape or form.

“I promise, _ad’ika_.”

Slowly, her small fingers wrapped around his and he pulled her out of her hiding spot, lightly brushing away her tears as he gently checked her over before lifting her back onto the bed so that he could clear up the mess on the floor.

“You’re not blue anymore,” she said after a moment, carefully observing his movements.

He looked down at his clothes, plain and beige, and realised that she was talking about his armour.

“No, I’m not,” he said, then, risking it a little, gently teased. “I have to use paint to become a colour that pretty.”

The response was a slightly blush, a weak giggle, and a relaxation of her shoulders as she once again became comfortable in his presence.

With the broken pieces brushed aside he looked around the room, considering.

Despite her growing calm, he expected she wasn’t going to go back to sleep anytime soon, not judging by the shadows still haunting her eyes. Yet, in her fear, she had managed to find the most defensible part of the room to hide in and it made him wonder.

Decision made, he turned and headed for the cupboard and began to pull out his spare blankets as Alema watched in confusion.

He sat them down on the bed beside her.

“Right,” he said. “We are going to make a fort.”

“A fort?”

“A blanket fort.” He confirmed, pulling a chair closer so that he could begin tying the corner of a blanket around it. “You did a good job hiding, so I’m going to teach you how to make the best possible defensive fort and how to hide in it.”

Alema’s eyes were widening with every word but it took another few minutes of watching him work for her to uncurl and reach for a blanket to help.

“Where should I put this one?”

“Where do you think would work best, _kebiin’ika_?”

Together they built one of the most impressive blanket forts Paz had even constructed and Alema had listened attentively as he explained how to find the entry and exit ports of a room, where to best position defences and how to construct a strong shelter in relation to them, and the best places to hide within the fort. Alema had suggested including a hidden secret exit once she had properly got stuck into the building so Paz had helped her work out where to put it and once the fort was complete, they both shuffled inside under the blanket ceiling and lay down in the ‘hiding spot’ where Alema had hoarded the pillows.

“So,” he said, “what do you think?”

“It’s great!” she replied.

“Good for hiding in?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And do you feel safe now?”

A pause as Alema slowly turned to face him and he saw the moment where the pieces came together and she worked out why he had done this when he could have easily tucked her back into the bed and left her to try to get to sleep.

Still, he was surprised when she crawled closer, wrapped in a blanket, and tucked herself into his side.

“Safe now,” she said sleepily into his shoulder, and he knew he was in trouble. “Thank you, Paz” 

_Kark_.

“You’re welcome, Alema. Sleep well.”

Tomorrow he was going to go and have a talk with the Armourer. If the _di’kut_ Djarin wasn’t going to adopt her, then he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> beroya - bounty hunter  
> darjetii - Mando'a for Sith  
> jetii - Mando'a for Jedi  
> kebiin'ika - little blue  
> ad'ika - little one/son/daughter  
> di'kut - idiot


	8. Lashing Out (Din & The Armourer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was not the alarm that woke him and it took Din a second to work out where the sudden sound was coming from.  
>  Across the room his comm was going off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so remember those kids Din and the covert rescued in A King's Ransom?

**_Lashing Out - Din & The Armourer_ **

**_Setting: Post ‘A King’s Ransom’ and ‘Rescue’_ **

It was not the alarm that woke him and it took Din a second to work out where the sudden sound was coming from.

Across the room his comm was going off.

Now, Din was pretty sure that after his last trip had resulted in yet another head injury that Aikan had threatened to tie him to the bed in the medical bay unless he agreed to rest properly, even though it had made her richer at the expense of Paz.

The important thing was that, under medic’s orders, he was not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.

His comm was still beeping so, with a groan, he pushed himself upright and stumbled over to answer it, blearily checking the time as he did so and finding, to his surprise, that he had slept for a solid nine hours, meaning it was actually mid-morning.

“Djarin here,” he said.

“Din.” The Armourer sounded tense, even through the comm. “My apologies for disturbing you but we could use a hand out here.”

“What?” he asked, thrown.

Still, his hands were reaching for his helmet even before the Armourer could offer an explanation.

“It’s Isla,” the Armourer said. In the background, he heard something that sounded alarmingly like crockery breaking. “Something upset her and she’s, lashing out.”

It took longer than Din would like for him to place the name. Isla had been one of the children they had saved from Zuril. She was one of the few without any living family to return to so the Mandalorians had taken her in just as they had with Alema.

Isla, who was Force-sensitive.

“Ah,” he said, eloquently.

Mandalorians were, despite what some of the stories and legends would have you believe, very good with children, especially children who had experienced trauma. You would be hard pressed to find a Mandalorian adult who wasn’t capable of helping a child through a difficult time, after all, maybe of those adults had once been distressed children themselves.

However, Isla was not like most children and, unlike the other Mandalorians currently staying with them on Bakura, Din had a distinct advantage in dealing with her.

He wasn’t exactly a stranger to waking up and finding things floating in his room himself.

“Din?” The Armourer sounded even more strained as he jerked himself out of his musing.

“On it,” he said.

Then he shut off the comm, pulled on a jacket and, tentatively considering his healing head injury, reached out into the Force.

It wasn’t hard to find Isla. Whereas usually the Force was smooth, like flowing water, around Isla’s presence it was more akin to a raging river.

Whilst he didn’t have a bond with her, so he couldn’t communicate properly with her, he did allow his own Force presence to reach out and wrap around hers, projecting comfort and calm to the best of his ability in the hopes that it would act as damage control until he could reach her.

Following the Force and the sounds of disorder, it didn’t take long for him to find them.

The common room had clearly been full with early morning meetings and games, he could see boards of pieces abandoned on tables and a number of Mandalorians, some he recognised from the covert and some who were newer, standing cautiously in the doorways, looking in.

Aikan was there too, looking like she wanted to help but not knowing how. When she caught sight of him, she seemed to be stuck between disapproval and relief.

He looked over her shoulder and saw why.

Isla was tucked into one of the corners, her arms wrapped around her head and the Armourer crouched just outside of immediate Force-throwing range, trying to talk to her.

Sighing, he squared his shoulders and brushed past the _vod_ in the doorway, hearing whispers follow him at the unexpected appearance of the _Mand’alor_.

Reaching the Armourer, he crouched down beside her.

“Anything?”

“Nothing,” the Armourer replied softly. “She was a little responsive at the beginning, but not for a while.”

“Could be a flashback, or a nightmare.”

“That was my best guess,” the Armourer agreed and he could hear the unspoken ‘we need to talk about weird _jetii _things after this’.

“She feels distressed,” he said, faintly wincing as her presence flared against his in the closer proximity. “Let me try something.”

Pushing past the discomfort, he once again attempted to wrap Isla in his own Force presence, to give her something to hold on to that was outside of whatever it was that was causing her distress. At the same time, he hoped that the sensation would help draw her out of it, remind her of her current surroundings.

For a tense minute, nothing seemed to happen, then, much like Alema back in the collapsing building on Malastare, she suddenly reached out and grabbed onto him.

Without hesitating, he moved forward and pulled her into his lap, letting her cling onto him and seek physical comfort in the safety of his arms.

“You’re safe, Isla, it’s ok _ad’ika_ ,” he murmured as he felt the edge of despair and fear slowly slide away. “You’re on Bakura, you’re with the covert, you’re safe.”

“ _Mand’alor_?”

“That’s right,” he said softly, seeing her eyes slowly open and fix on his helmet. “You can call me Din though, if you’d prefer.”

“’M sorry.”

“It’s ok, no need to apologise,” he soothed, shooting glares over her head at the few newbies in the doorway who were muttering some less than pleasant things in their own fear of what they had seen.

He would have words with them later, for now, Isla was his priority.

Isla was still shaking a little in his arms but she relaxed a little when the Armourer approached and sat down beside him.

He suspected Olia might be getting a sibling soon.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

Isla burrowed deeper into his shirt.

“There was a loud noise and I – I thought I was back there, and then I was there, I could see it, and I was scared and, and, I thought they were going to hurt me.”

If Zuril hadn’t already been dead at his hand, Din would have taken up the darksaber and tracked him down without a moment’s hesitation for what he’d done to these children.

But first, he had to get Isla to stop apologising.

“It’s ok.”

“It’s not! I could have hurt them!”

“Shh,” he soothed, letting the Force imbue his words slightly, not enough for a suggestion but enough to give them weight. “I have nightmares too you know.”

Isla froze, looking up at him in disbelief.

“You do?”

“Sometimes I wake up and find I’ve broken something in my sleep.”

Isla’s eyes were wide.

“But, but you’re trained!”

“And still it happens,” he said softly. “This was not your fault, do you understand? Losing control, it happens sometimes. No one was hurt.”

“I should be better,” Isla insisted.

“Then I shall teach you, or I’ll ask Marin to help, how does that sound?”

Isla sniffled but nodded and he felt the last of her fear drain away into exhaustion.

That, he could do something about.

“Now,” he said. “You’ve had a bad morning so I think some _uj’alayi _and hot chocolate are in order to help you feel better before we tidy up here, how does that sound?”

Despite her subdued state, he felt her perk up at his words.

“Really?”

“Really,” Aikan’s voice rang out across the room, the sneak. “Medic’s orders.”

Isla’s eyes brightened at the prospect and she turned to the Armourer eagerly, all trace of her trauma forgotten in the manner of children. Din could only hope she would always recover so quickly.

“You want to go with Thora?” he asked.

“Thora’s nice,” Isla confirmed, then she addressed the Armourer. “Can I go with you, please?”

And that was how Din had the pleasure of watching the Armourer, who had stared down seasoned warriors twice her age until they submitted to her advice, melt it the face of a child.

“I’d be honoured, _ner ad_.”

As Din handed Isla to the Armourer, he made a mental note to find Paz and update his stake in a certain betting pool.

Just as soon as he’d given Aikan the slip, that was. 


	9. Confession (Din & The Child)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _At first, it was just little things._   
>  _A misplaced tool that he then couldn’t find for a few days, a cup that wasn’t where he had left it, one of the kid’s toys somehow managing to migrate to the pilot’s seat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's face it, I needed some cute Din and the kid moments to recover from the last few weeks!

_**Confession - Din & The Child** _

_**Setting: Between 'After the Storm' and 'Forces Beyond Our Control'** _

At first, it was just little things.

A misplaced tool that he then couldn’t find for a few days, a cup that wasn’t where he had left it, one of the kid’s toys somehow managing to migrate to the pilot’s seat.

Nothing major, just inconvenient so he wasn’t too worried. Sure, he’d had some memory problems coming out of the fight with Gideon, it was entirely possible that it was just taking longer than he’d expected to fully shake off the effects of the battering his head had received. Or that things were shifting around with some of the more extreme manoeuvres he’d been making the Razor Crest pull off lately to avoid various potential confrontations, it wasn’t like he could tie everything down at a moment’s notice, so he didn’t dwell too much on it.

Then it began to escalate. A blanket that mysteriously disappeared one night which never turned up again despite his searches. Some of the credits from his last job that he was sure he had put safely away were no longer there but he didn’t recall spending them. The only thing that hadn’t been affected was the weapons locker, which was a relief in many ways because of a certain young child on board.

He started to worry that maybe his head injury had been more serious than he thought, that maybe he should consider seeking out a medic. That he might be forgetting things.

Then he found the hoard.

Or rather, the kid showed him the hoard because somehow, in all of his thinking around the issue, he hadn’t considered for a moment, that the kid might be behind it.

Sometimes he, not forgot exactly, but made the assumption that the child wouldn’t be capable of lifting heavy things around or getting things down from a height because he’d never seen, heard of, or had to deal with anyone with the kid’s powers before.

It wasn’t until he began seriously considering seeking out help that the kid started behaving strangely. Wide eyes watched him with concern, small clawed hands tugging gently at his robe, tiny noises.

He did his best to understand, lifting the kid for hugs when he reached up, talking back as best he could because that was supposed to be good for development.

Then, one evening, he wasn’t tugged back by green fingers, but by the kid’s power not so much tugging on his cloak as yanking.

Immediately he turned, concerned.

“What is it, kid?” he asked, following the tug towards the tiny figure of his _ad’ika_. “Is something wrong?”

The child began to babble, as he’d been doing more and more lately, but it wasn’t under he pointed at the loose panel that Din began to comprehend.

“That shouldn’t be loose.”

The kid made a noise of what he interpreted as agreement and this time he got a more gentle, physical tug on his cloak towards the offending compartment.

“You want me to have a look?”

He could have sworn the kid nodded as he knelt down and scooped him up to sit him on his lap as his other hand reached out and pried the panel loose.

The first thing he saw was the missing blanket and still he didn’t think that the child might be behind its relocation, merely that he had no idea how it had ended up here. Then he pulled it out and found what was hiding behind it.

Loose credits, trinkets, tools and toys were crammed into the small space.

The kid let out a small noise, his ears titling downwards and that was when Din finally caught up with what the child had been trying to tell him.

“This was you?” he asked, keeping his voice soft. “You’ve been hiding things?”

In truth, he wasn’t really annoyed, more relieved that he wasn’t suffering further complications from the lingering head injury.

The kid’s fingers tightened briefly on his arm in confirmation, the confession accompanied by a sad noise that tugged at his heartstrings.

“I’m not angry.” He took a moment to sit properly and turn the kid in his arms so he could see the _ad’ika_ ’s face. “I’m just confused.”

He just didn’t understand why the child had done this. He wasn’t, as far as Din could tell, cold enough to need the blanket. It was possible that his habit of taking things was because he could when he hadn’t been able to before, that the child wanted the security of having things and a place to keep them.

The more he thought upon that idea, the more animated the kid became, as though in agreement and he realised that in spite of the adjustments he’d made for the kid in his lifestyle and routine, the little one didn’t really have a space of his own.

“Wait here,” he said, setting the kid down with a brief caress that lifted the drooping ears. “I’ve got an idea.”

There were plenty of empty cargo crates stored in the back of the ship. He found the one with the shallowest height and carried it back to the main storage area for his things, under which the child had been hiding his collection of stolen objects.

Setting the crate down and sitting, he settled the kid back in his lap so he could see as Din began to pad out the crate with the recovered blanket. Then he sorted through the rest of the objects from the compartment, setting aside those he actually needed, like the tools and credits, but keeping the other trinkets and odds and ends the child had collected.

“You see this?” he asked, placing a hand on the side of the crate. The kid mimicked the action, patting enthusiastically on the side. “That’s right,” he said, “this is for you. Your box, for your things. You don’t need to hide them, you understand?”

“Baa!”

The child bounced a little on his lap and Din reached down to help him climb into the crate. Then he picked up the few toys that he had gained over the past few months and held them up.

“These are yours, yes?”

“Ah-ha!”

“Do you want them to go in your box?”

Slowly they worked their way through the pile, with Din offering the trinkets for inspection and letting the kid take them and place them where he wanted to in the confines of the crate.

Not everything was accepted and Din found that the child was now happy to relinquish some of the items he had pillaged from various parts of the ship and rather than take them, they were pressed back into his hands.

He wasn’t surprised to see that the metal ball from the cockpit was not returned and he resigned himself to finding a new one.

Once everything had been examined and the kid had sorted them away to his liking, he held his hands up to be lifted out, his favourite frog toy clutched tightly.

“I’ll build you a step,” he said softly as he set his son down. “So that you can get inside whenever you want.”

“Ah, baba.”

Din couldn’t stop the smile that spread at the sight of his _ad _sat happily in his lap, playing with the well-worn frog toy. Maybe, the next time they were in the market, he’d get him a new one. He seemed to like the soft ones best.

For a second he hesitated, but then he lifted his hands and pulled off his helmet. He was, slowly, but surely, getting used to showing his face to the kid, and he wanted him to pay attention to what he had to say next. The child always focused better when he could make eye contact.

Moving to wrap the little one in his arms, he listened as his babbled, nodding and humming appropriately until the kid noticed that the helmet was gone and dropped his toy to instead reach for his moustache.

Din picked him up easily and pressed their heads together in a brief show of affection before he met his son’s eyes.

“You are safe here,” he said, hoping his words reflected the weight and meaning behind them. “You are safe with me. Always.”


	10. Crying (Young Din)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That they didn’t go easy on him was, he supposed, in some ways a compliment. It was a subtle way of saying ‘you are one of us now’. Still, it stung his pride and muscles both to be laid out yet again and he felt the treacherous burn of tears building._   
>  _He pushed them back. It would not do to show further weakness here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... it's been a while. I might have got distracted with other projects *sheepish smile*...

_**Crying - Young Din** _

_**Setting: Before 'The Mandalorian' Series 1  
**_

For the fourth time that lesson, Din’s back hit the mats.

It hurt, just as it had all the other times one of the other students had managed to get in under his guard which, admittedly, wasn’t very hard for them to do. He’d only been learning to fight for a month and most of the others had been practicing for years.

That they didn’t go easy on him was, he supposed, in some ways a compliment. It was a subtle way of saying ‘you are one of us now’. Still, it stung his pride and muscles both to be laid out yet again and he felt the treacherous burn of tears building.

He pushed them back. It would not do to show further weakness here.

“Up you get, Djarin,” the instructor called from the front, not unkindly. “ _K’atini_.”

Din didn’t know much _Mando’a_ yet. Eli, his rescuer and current guardian, was trying to teach him enough to get by. _K’atini_ , however, was a word he was becoming intimately familiar with. _K’atini_ , young one. It’s only pain.

“It’s only pain,” he said and started to push himself up.

The boy who had knocked him down quirked an eyebrow at him and he glared back until the expression unexpectedly shifted into something like approval.

“It’s only pain,” the boy agreed and offered him a hand.

Part of him, the petulant, hurting part, wanted to ignore the offer, another part of him that had rarely spoken to him since that awful day, whispered otherwise.

He took the boy’s hand and let him pull him to his feet.

“I’m Paz,” the boy, Paz, said.

“Din,” he replied.

“You did well.”

“I lasted ten seconds at best,” Din said, forcing down his frustration with difficulty.

Paz frowned, reaching out in an attempt to clasp his shoulder, the motion abruptly aborted when he couldn’t help but flinch away.

“You’re doing much better than I did when I started,” Paz said instead.

He was getting better, he knew, just as he was getting better at dealing with loud noises and unexpected movements, but that didn’t ease the pain in his back and the bruises on his knuckles.

“Enough chatter,” the instructor called. “Next pair!”

As he watched the next pair of fighters square off in a bout that lasted for several minutes, Din couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever be any good at this.

“How were your lessons today?” Eli asked over dinner.

Eli was everything the instructors dreamed for their students. Tough, competent, and brave. He was also Din’s guardian, had adopted him into his clan and given him a home when the one he had been born into had been ripped away.

To Din, Eli was like an older brother. Whenever something about the new culture he had been brought into threw him, Eli took the time to explain it where others brushed him off and called him names that they thought he didn’t understand.

The helmet rules, for example. Eli had explained exactly why he could show Din his face, but not others, and why he had only been able to do so once he had vowed to raise him in his clan.

“Fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Din.”

Din sighed, and put down his spoon, appetite evaporating.

“Who told you?”

“Nobody told me,” Eli replied. “Your face told me.”

“I lost at sparring again.”

“Everyone loses sometimes.”

“Four times, Eli. I didn’t even last ten seconds.” His voice was rising and there was nothing Din could do about it. The emotions that he had pushed down on the mats spilled over. “I’m never going to get better. Maybe I’m not meant to be a Mandalorian.”

Eli sighed and set down his own bowl.

“Din, not all Mandalorians fight. There are other ways to follow the creed.”

“But I need to learn!” Din shot back, feeling the first tears escape. “If I’d known how to fight, I could have saved them!”

He was shouting now and he felt strange, like he wasn’t completely in his own body.

He was drowning.

“Din! You need to calm down! Please, Din!”

Eli’s voice sounded distant, even though Din knew he was just across the table. He latched onto it, desperate for grounding and slowly, the world bled back in until he was once again stood by the table, shaking.

His bowl lay in pieces on the surface, stew spilling across the wood.

“I, I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, eyes fixed on the broken crockery.

How had he done that? He must have broken it, but there were no new wounds on his hands. He didn’t know what had happened.

“Oh, _verd’ika_ ,” Eli said, picking up on his distress. “I know you didn’t.”

Before Din could apologise again for ruining the meal that Eli had prepared for him, for shouting, for losing control, the warm arms of his guardian had enveloped him in a brief embrace before Eli pulled back and crouched before him, hands on his shoulders.

His eyes were stinging again.

“Is that what this is all about?” Eli asked, voice so soft. “Your parents?” Din swallowed hard and looked away, unable to hold Eli’s gaze any longer. “You miss them?”

Slowly, he nodded, ashamed.

“All the time.”

The words were a whisper, an admission he hadn’t allowed himself before. A hurt he’d buried deep rather than confronted.

Eli’s hands moved from his shoulders to his cheeks, cupping his face and wiping tears away.

“I don’t know what sort of practices your people had,” he said, “but in Mandalorian culture we have a saying. _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_. It means ‘not gone, just marching away’. They are not gone,” he explained. “Not as long as you remember them.”

“What if I forget them?” Din asked. “What they looked like? I’ve already forgotten things!”

He was getting worked up again, he knew it, but Eli held him firm.

“Do you know their names?”

He did. They had been written on the big tapestry in their home detailing their family lineage.

“Yes.”

“Then you can say them in your remembrances. All you have to do is say their names and they will always be with you. Would you like me to teach you how?”

Eli taught him the words for the remembrance and explained what they meant, how Mandalorian warriors said them every day to honour those dear to them who had gone before and, for the first time since that day, Din felt something like peace.

When they had said their remembrances together, dinner entirely forgotten, Din finally pulled away from Eli’s hands and roughly wiped his face clean.

“I’m sorry about the bowl.”

“It’s alright,” Eli said, catching his hands. “And don’t be ashamed of your tears, not for this.”

When Din looked up, Eli gave him a sharp nod, and just like that, Din knew the subject was closed. Letting his guardian help him up, Din followed him back to the table, where a fresh bowl was procured and more stew ladled out.

“Now, tell me more about sparring.”

Din told him everything. How, so matter how hard he tried to hit, the others shrugged it off, yet every hit he took brought him down, and that no move, no form seemed to help.

“Your instructor is focusing on strength training, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have strength yet,” Eli said. “You’ve not had time to build up the muscle to hit hard. Perhaps, what you need is a different tactic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your fast, aren’t you?”

“I suppose.”

Eli smirked. “I’ve seen you move when you run away from things, _verd’ika_ , you are very fast.”

“So, what if I am?”

“If getting hits in isn’t working, you need to use your speed to your advantage. Keep them out of range, make them come to you then dodge the punches they throw. If they miss, they’ll be off balance.”

“And I can trip them over,” Din realised.

“Precisely.”

The next day, the instructor paired him with Paz again and Din took Eli’s words to heart and tried a different tactic and, to his surprise, it worked.

He couldn’t quite believe it.

Judging by the sudden silence, neither could the rest of the room. The instructor watched them both for a moment and the room held its breath in anticipation.

“Not bad, Djarin.”

Under any other circumstances, the words would hardly count as praise but Din didn’t care. For the first time, he'd won.

“Vizsla? Up.”

From his position on the mats, Paz was staring up at him and Din couldn’t place his expression. It could have been confusion, equally, it could have been annoyance.

Hesitant, he offered Paz a hand in a mirror of the previous day.

“ _K’atini_ ,” he said, well aware that his pronunciation was awful and the word awkward on his tongue.

Yet, beneath him, Paz broke into a slow smile, then a grin and for a moment Din thought he might even start laughing but the moment passed and Paz settled.

“ _K’atini_ ,” Paz repeated, still smiling, and took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> k'atini - 'suck it up' or 'it's only pain'  
> verd'ika - little warrior / little soldier  
> nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la - not gone, merely marching away (usually a tribute to a dead comrade)


	11. PTSD (Din & Paz)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Fireworks not your thing?” he asked after a moment. Beside him, Paz shifted slightly, but didn’t reply. This was going to require delicate handling, he could tell. “I can’t say they’re really my thing either.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of Mando'a in this one! As always, translations are available on hover or in the end notes.

**_PTSD - Din & Paz_  
**

**_Setting: Post ‘A King’s Ransom’_ **

According to the peoples of the galaxy, there was nothing quite like a good celebration.

At least, that was why Din suspected that in spite of their distance from the Core and the jurisdiction of the New Republic, the scouts of the Mandalorian settlement on Bakura arrived back from the markets on the anniversary of the Battle of Endor with the news that the town was planning celebrations in the evening and through the night.

Din was hardly one to deny his people the chance to enjoy themselves, not after they had spent so many years struggling to survive and coping with loss.

Kessi barely had time to get the question out before he was saying that yes, those who wanted to could attend, or watch the fireworks displays from the nearby hills, as long as they had enough volunteers to stay behind and keep the settlement secure. It wasn’t as though the Mandalorian presence on Bakura had gone unnoticed and they had established something of a mutually beneficial alliance with the nearby towns so Mandalorians were not a foreign sight anymore.

Within minutes he had enough veteran fighters agree to stay behind so that others could enjoy the evening without worry, though Din was surprised to see Paz amongst their number considering how excited Alema seemed at the prospect.

By the time his work had concluded for the day, with a break for sparring and training with the children, now a regular occurrence with Marin living permanently on Bakura, the sun was already setting. As he walked through the halls towards his own rooms, he met groups headed out for the night and greeted those who offered him cordial nods of acknowledgement.

Just outside of his door, he spotted the Armourer with her foundlings. Isla was holding Olia and talking to her younger sister enthusiastically about the things they could do at the party. As they passed, he spotted Alema clinging to the Armourer’s hand which solved one mystery. Paz must’ve had a word with her earlier.

“ _Ge'catra_ , Din,” Marin greeted as the door shut behind him and he took a moment to bask in her Force presence before sliding off his helmet and joining his family.

Whilst he couldn’t accurately replicate her language in the way she could speak Mando’a, he did his best to offer her the greeting she had tried to teach him when they had first got married.

Judging by the rush of warmth through the bond she appreciated the effort, even if not the pronounciation.

Riye was happily tucking into his dinner but at least had the manners to greet him mentally, through the bond, rather than speaking with his mouth full.

“Are you planning on joining the celebrations later?” he asked as Marin handed him a bowl.

“Maybe for a little while,” Marin replied, the beads on her headdress clinking together as she sat. “I thought we could stay in town for a while and then come back to watch the fireworks from the hill.”

“Fireworks!”

Riye bounced in his chair in excitement and Din caught an impression of last year’s display before it vanished into the Force.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Marin said, smiling. “You managed to wriggle out of guard duty this time then?”

He hummed. “Paz and a couple of the older fighters agreed to stay behind.”

“That’s good,” Marin said. “As much as I appreciate your philosophy of leading by example, it is good for you to have some time off occasionally.”

Din blushed at the gentle reminder. He was well aware that his years on the run had made him into something of a workaholic and he still struggled to properly relax at times.

“Well, I’m yours for the night,” he said, dropping any idea of what exactly that meant across his connection to Marin and delighting in the way she fumbled with her spoon for second.

Riye, thankfully, remained blissfully ignorant.

“In that case you’d better eat up,” she said after a moment, a wicked grin spreading across her lips, “you’ll be needing the energy.”

Din reached up to catch hold of Riye with his free hand before he lost his balance. His son had claimed his shoulder for the walk back from the town and was busy asking question after question of Marin who, to her credit, was answering them with patience that he sometimes envied.

She might not have been overly confident in her parenting abilities, although Din was doing his best to show her how good a parent she was to Riye, but teaching? That was her element.

He had hoped that the evening would have tired Riye out sufficiently that he would be easy to get to bed but he hadn’t considered that the holiday festivities would, of course, involve numerous sugary treats, many of which had made their way into his son’s hands and stomach.

He suspected Riye might be getting a lecture on misuse of the Force in the near future for his attempts to sneak extra snacks.

They were just approaching the doors to the settlement where the path branched and led up to a good spot on the hillside with views over the surrounding countryside when the first firework went off.

It was far enough away that the noise didn’t make him immediately jump, but he did have to make a slight effort not to tense. Beside him, he felt Marin release her own anxiety into the Force and had to remind himself that her montrals meant she was more sensitive to sound than he was and loud bangs did not necessarily have good connotations for her, either.

“You ok?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, “they’re alright when I expect them.”

He nodded in understanding and was about to suggest they head up the hill when another firework went off and something caught his attention. In the Force, a distant rush of fear and panic, in the corner of his eye, a familiar figure on sentry duty flinching.

Marin had clearly sensed it to and gave him a mental nudge that was the equivalent of asking if she could help.

“Can you take Riye?” he asked, letting go of her hand to reach up and remove his son from his spot. “I think it’s best if I deal with this.”

“Of course.”

“ _Buir_?” Riye seemed confused and Din brushed a finger along his ear in comfort.

“I’ll join you in a little bit, _ad’ika_. The Force is asking me to help someone. _Jate_?”

Riye understood enough about the Force to accept that sometimes his parents had to answer it, even if it meant leaving him behind to keep him safe. To Riye’s credit he didn’t sound particularly upset when he replied.

“ _Jate_.”

As Marin headed off up the hill with their son, Din turned towards the entrance to the caves and to Paz.

“Shouldn’t you be spending the evening with your _ad_ and _riduur_ ,” was how Paz greeted him.

“Hello to you to,” he said as he leaned against the wall next to the _al’verde_.

Over the last few years, he and Paz had made considerable progress in mending a broken friendship but that didn’t mean that Paz wasn’t still standoffish at times, especially when he was upset.

Like now. To an outsider, it might look as though Paz was standing comfortably, but Din could see the tension in his posture, the discomfort. As the next set of fireworks went off in the distance, he was also close enough to hear the breath Paz sucked in.

“Fireworks not your thing?” he asked after a moment. Beside him, Paz shifted slightly, but didn’t reply. This was going to require delicate handling, he could tell. “I can’t say they’re really my thing either.”

“What’s it matter?” Paz shot back, defensive.

His response was not unexpected and Din did his best to work with it.

“It matters if you’re hurting.”

Another series of fireworks went off, louder this time, and Paz physically jerked back against the wall, his armour clattering and Din couldn’t help but turn to look at him in concern.

“I’m not _laandur_!” Paz spat.

“No,” Din agreed, carefully. “You’re not, but there’s no shame in admitting when you’re _kadala_. We are stronger when we work together, remember?”

“I’m not wounded though, am I?”

And there was the crack that Din had been waiting for. He knew that Paz had always been under a lot of pressure from his family to be the best, to overcome the impossible. It made sense that he would avoid showing weakness wherever possible, even if it meant suffering in silence.

“Not physically,” Din said, voice even because Paz, like any proud Mandalorian, would not stand for pity. “Not that you can see. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Whatever response Paz might have had to that it was lost when the fireworks reached their finale and the tenuous grip his friend had on the present was lost. In the Force, Din could feel Paz’s presence shift. Whatever Paz was seeing, it wasn’t Bakura anymore. He knew that with a certainty born from experience.

Thankfully, this time he could help, as he had been helped, and he reached out in the Force to enclose Paz within his own shields, blocking out the noise until it was only them, speaking calmly as he waited for Paz to come back to himself enough that it would be safe to touch his arm and provide solid grounding.

He could feel the moment Paz returned to awareness because the tension under his hand relaxed and then flared back up again, only this time in embarrassment. A moment later Paz tried to pull away, but Din didn’t let him.

“Did you know I still have frequent nightmares about Gideon?” he said conversationally. “And just last week I was duelling with Marin and had a flashback. Thought I was fighting Zuril again.”

Paz was frozen, but Din could feel his mind whirring as it worked around the implications of those statements.

“It’s not – I’m not,” Paz fumbled over the words and fell silent.

“I won’t say it goes away, but it does get easier, Paz, if you accept the help that is offered. And it is offered. You are not alone, not anymore.” Slowly, he let go of Paz’s arm and was pleased when he didn’t move away and remained stood by his side. “ _Gar shuk meh kyrayc_ , _vod_.”

For a moment they watched the sky together, clear and starry, not a firework in sight.

“Thank you, Din.”

Paz’s words were quiet, meant only for them, a moment of vulnerability that he would not normally allow himself and Din could hear the underlying promise, the cautious acceptance of what had been offered.

In the distance, he could hear the sounds of Mandalorians making their way home.

“ _Kih’parjai_ , Paz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> ge'catra - evening  
> buir - father/mother/parent  
> ad'ika - little one/son/daughter  
> jate - good/okay  
> ad - child/son/daughter  
> riduur - spouse/wife/husband  
> al'verde - commander  
> laandur - fragile/delicate (sometimes used as an insult - weak/pathetic)  
> kadala - wounded/hurt  
> gar shuk meh kyrayc - you're no use dead (rarely literal, often said to encourage someone to take a rest)  
> vod - comrade/brother/sister  
> kih'parjai - no problem/don't mention it (lit. 'small victory')


	12. Emotional Support Pet (Rex & Marin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Captain Rex, the right hand of the Hero With No Fear, leader of Torrent Company of the 501st, famed as one of the best battalions in the GAR, was lost._   
>  _Very lost, but he had also lost the Seppies and clankers that had been chasing him so it could be worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a wild leap into the Clone Wars here with a young Marin (and Rex because he's one of my favs).

_**Emotional Support Pet - Rex & Marin** _

_**Setting: Pre-All Things in Balance, Early 'The Clone Wars' Series 2** _

Captain Rex, the right hand of the Hero With No Fear, leader of Torrent Company of the 501st, famed as one of the best battalions in the GAR, was lost.

Very lost, but he had also lost the Seppies and clankers that had been chasing him so it could be worse. At least, that’s what he told himself as he trekked through the never-ending wilderness in what he reckoned was the vague direction of their intended objective. His helmet was mostly fried, a lucky near-miss, so he was having to rely on the suns for navigation.

And ok, maybe his side was burning a bit and he just knew that Kix was going to have a fit when he saw Rex’s attempt at first aid which had basically boiled down to ‘slap some bacta and a bandage on it and hope’, but it was better than nothing.

The planet was, from what he remembered of the initial briefings, sparsely populated with a mixture of different cultures. Most of the families living planet-side had built houses near the mines so the forest around him was quiet, with the exception of the local wildlife occasionally making an appearance, but he kept his guard up, wary that the Seppies might still be on his tail.

So, when he heard the sounds of distinctly non-animal rustling up ahead, then a twig snapping, his first instinct was to reach for his blasters and approach with immense caution.

Carefully pushing the foliage aside, once again cursing the blaster shot that had damaged his bucket, and taken out the HUD it took him a moment to spot the source of the noise. Mainly because he tended to check for hostiles at clanker height, not child height.

When his initial scan of the area failed to show up any hostiles, friendlies, or otherwise, he finally glanced down, pistols aimed and ready - and found a little Togrutan girl, sat on the ground across the clearing, playing with some flowers. Not a threat.

Exhaling heavily in a mixture of relief and fading adrenaline, he lowered his blasters and stuck them back in their holsters. He knew, from months of experience working alongside Commander Tano, that her species had excellent hearing and a good sense for danger.

If the girl was happy to play here, it was most likely safe, at least for now.

Still, he didn’t like that she seemed to be out here alone, least of all with the Seppies still wandering around. The last thing he wanted was for a kid to get caught in the crossfire. Besides, if he was, as he feared, lost, there was a chance that the girl’s family or village was nearby and he could ask for directions.

Without any working tech to scan the wider area he figured his best bet for getting her home, or at least to a safer place than an unguarded, open clearing, was to ask her and hope she knew her way back.

And for that to work, he’d have to gain her trust so, step one, make a friend. He could do that, he told himself as he stepped slowly and carefully into the clearing.

Instantly, her head snapped up and around. The moment she spotted him, she shrunk back which was - not ideal. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He took a moment to think about how he must appear to her – big and scary and faceless. None of which were problems he couldn’t address.

First, he reached up, still slow, broadcasting his movements, and pulled his helmet off to step down by his side. Then he crouched down to her level so that he wouldn’t look so big and intimidating.

Across the clearing they regarded each other, sized each other up, and the longer he watched the more her expression turned from fear to curiosity.

Once he was certain she wasn’t going to run, he decided to try step two, establish a means of communication.

“Hello,” he said, keeping his voice soft and giving her a little wave, a universal symbol of greeting.

After a moment he got a shy wave back and he took it as permission to scoot closer until he was just out of reach and hoped that she hadn’t been warned against talking to strangers – or that she might not speak basic, which would be a problem.

Only one way to find out.

“My name is Rex,” he said, pointing at himself. “Who are you, little one?”

“‘M not little,” she protested. “I’m seven, nearly eight!” She held up the appropriate number of fingers as she stared up at him with wide eyes. “You’re shiny. It’s pretty.”

Ok, she did speak basic, that was good.

He was about to correct her when he realised that she probably wasn’t calling him a _shiny_ , rather that his armour was reflecting the light even with the mud coating it, or something along those lines. It certainly wasn’t what he’d call pretty, not in its current state, but who was he to judge what children thought?

“Alright then, not-so-little one, you got a name?” he said, hoping to put her at ease.

“Marin,” she replied, chest puffed out. “Muh-ah-ruh-ih-nuh.”

Ok, that was far cuter than it had any right to be. He was beginning to see what Waxer and Boil had meant about Numa.

“Marin,” he repeated. “Are your,” he paused, about to say _vod’e_ , and took a moment to adjust his terminology to that which a nat-born would comprehend, “parents nearby?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded seriously. “Mum says I shouldn’t play too far away. They’re at home, with my baby brother.”

Oh no, he’d found a talkative one. Cute and talkative. He briefly cursed his Mandalorian heritage because apparently the instinct to adopt kids was in Mandalorian _kriffing_ genes. He was doomed.

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah! He’s so small, so he can’t play with me yet, but soon.” Her eyes widened as a thought struck her. “Do you have a brother?”

He restrained a chuckle at her innocent curiosity with difficulty. She reminded him so much of the Commander.

“Sure, kid, I’ve got,” literal thousands, “a lot of brothers.”

“Woah.”

“Look,” he said before she could follow that line of questioning and derail him from his quest further, “you said your home is nearby?”

“Yeah, why?”

“There are,” he took another moment to work out how to translate, “there are bad men, bad droids, in the woods. They might be following me and I want to make sure that you get home safely.”

Marin tilted her head and frowned.

“Was it the bad men that hurt you?”

He startled and looked down, wondering if his patch job wasn’t holding up as well as he thought but he found that the bandage was clean. Which begged the question, what had given him away?

Maybe he was more tired that he thought.

“Yes, but I’ll be alright,” he said. “Can you lead me to your village? I need to ask for directions so I can get back to my family.”

The General was probably getting worried by now, let alone mention the troops. And Kix. Who was going to get him one of the legendary lectures, he just knew it.

“Sure,” she said, standing.

He managed to get to his feet with only a slight flinch at the tug on the graze, but then she reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled and he had to restrain a full-on jump at how unexpected it was.

“C’mon,” she said. “It’s this way.”

So he let her lead him through the woods, following a path she clearly knew well. Reassured, he turned his attention back to making sure they weren’t being followed.

He must have zoned out though because when he blinked, a small series of homesteads had come into view.

“Mama!”

“Marin!” A tall Togrutan woman jumped up at the sight of them. “What are you doing?”

“He’s shiny mum,” the girl explained. She still hadn’t let go of his hand. “And hurt.”

“Marin,” the voice took on a tone of warning but Marin’s mother had a long-suffering expression that Rex recognised because it was the same one General Kenobi pulled when Anakin pulled another of his insane tricks – resigned with a hint of annoyance.

Cute, talkative, and a troublemaker.

“I’m terribly sorry ma’am,” he said, hoping to defuse the situation. “I wouldn’t have approached your daughter but I’m afraid I got cut off from my battalion and I’m lost.”

The mother’s sharp eyes snapped to him, judging and he made sure to make the distance between his hands and his weapons very clear.

“You have time for a drink?” she said eventually.

“Ma’am?”

“My daughter trusts you, which is good enough for me, Captain?”

“Rex,” he supplied.

“Captain Rex,” she nodded. “Sit down, let me have a look at your injuries, and we’ll work out where you go, hmm?”

Rex had little choice but to let her do as she wished because it quickly became clear where Marin’s force of will had come from.

By the time he was ready to leave, he was thoroughly rehydrated, had a solid meal in him, new bacta on his side, and, thankfully, directions.

“Thank you again, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Captain, for making sure Marin got home safely. We’ll make sure to have a watch this evening.”

Rex nodded in farewell and turned to leave, but a sudden shout stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait! Mr Rex!” Marin raced towards him, a small cuddly toy in her hands. “For you.” She held it out. “To help you feel better, it always helps me feel better and I have another one so you should have this one.”

He felt a little silly, tucking the plush into his belt, but he could hardly say no, not considering the heartfelt look Marin gave him, nor the intention behind the unexpected gift.

“Thank you, little one.”

And if he slept better when Marin’s gift was nearby, if the nightmares didn’t come on the nights he kept it close, then no one else needed to know.


	13. Baking (Din & Riye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait - I've had a bit of a writing slump and I hope the following fluff makes up for it!

_**Baking - Din & Riye** _

_**Setting: Post 'A King's Ransom'** _

The Nevarro Covert had not celebrated the Festival of Kings since the Purge.

Din had heard the stories of the festival as it was meant to be celebrated of course, of the celebrations spanning for the longest nights of the year on Mandalore, where clans came back together to mark important milestones in a child’s journey to become Mando’ade, to pass on traditions, and tell stories of the kings of old immortalised in the stars.

With the loss of Mandalore had come the loss of many of their traditions as the scattered survivors returned to their culture’s nomadic roots. The scarcity of beskar had required it to be carefully rationed, the loss of records and written histories had forced the next generation to piece their heritage together as best they could from what their elders had been able to pass on.

Yet, despite the best efforts of the Empire, some things had remained, passed from person to person, and the Mandalorian people had always been good at adapting to new circumstances.

The precise recipe that Din had been taught, all those years ago in the fighting corps, was not one he could pass on to his son. It required fruit that had been lost with their home planet. There was a chance, of course, that someone had been able to escape, plant seeds, propagate and train the plant to grow in new soil but, for now, Din would have to adapt.

Which was why he was walking to the market on Bakura.

When the Mandalorians that had gathered on Bakura had decided to remain settled there whilst they regrouped, Din had quickly realised that they would need to approach working with the locals carefully.

A small group moving into a deserted area of the planet might not cause much alarm, but a group of faceless warriors would undoubtably be treated with suspicion, if not outright hostility.

Which was why, even though he was technically the leader of this motley mix of clans and coverts, it had been Samirr and Kessi, both with smaller builds and open faces that they were willing to show, who had actually met with the representatives from nearest town and begun negotiations on his behalf.

They were fairly established now, with agreements in place with the people who lived nearest their chosen temporary home.

Still, he knew that they would be wary of his helmet so he’d brought Riye along with him, hoping that the sight of his son would put the traders at ease.

“What’s it called again?” asked Riye, from his spot under the warmth of his cloak, protected from the chill in the air.

“ _Uj’alayi_ ,” he said, making sure to pronounce the unfamiliar word slow and clear. “We also call it _uj_ cake.”

“ _Uj_ ,” Riye repeated carefully.

Din sent him a brief rush of affection down the bond. He knew Riye was trying hard to learn Mando’a, but that he struggled a little at times with making the words sound right. Din wasn’t sure if it was because of his species, if his vocal cords just couldn’t make certain sounds, or if he just needed more time.

Then the market came into view and Riye immediately got distracted by the sounds, smells, and rush of unfamiliar Force signatures.

Din weaved his way through the outer buildings and into the middle of the market, orientating himself towards the food stalls and digging out his mental list of ingredients.

As they approached the first stall they needed, he felt the eyes of the people around them tracking him, the Force clouding with their uncertainty. The _jaig_ eyes on his helmet made him stand out, even amongst those of his people who lived by the same creed, and he couldn’t tell if they were uncertain because they couldn’t see his face of if they had worked out what those markings symbolised.

Part of him hoped it was the former. He couldn’t avoid his title, the weight of what it meant, when he was back in the caves surrounded by Mandalorians and there were days when he missed the anonymity he had once wielded.

He approached the most likely looking stall for finding _uj’alayi_ ingredients, eyes drifting over the foodstuffs displayed as he searched for what he needed, and identified possible substitutes for those he couldn’t find.

“What can I get you?” the woman manning the stall asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Before he could reply, or pull out some credits to assuage her fears, another voice spoke up, a pair of green ears poked out from under his cloak.

“What do we need?” Riye asked.

The stall owner, a middle-age woman with a stern expression jumped at the unexpected sound and he watched as her eyes found Riye, emerging fully now to climb up his usual spot on his shoulder, and softened, just a little.

“ _Uj’alayi_ doesn’t have any particular set ingredients,” he explained to his son, aware of the way the crowd had stopped to watch the interaction. “Each clan has its own recipe.”

“So, we have one too?”

“We do,” he confirmed. “And to make it we need some dried fruits, a few different varieties of nuts, spices, flour, butter, sugar and treacle. Can you find any of those for me?”

His son clambered up onto his shoulder and looked down at the stand with wild eyes, reading labels and taking in the variety of colours. A few he was able to point out and Din supplied the woman with the quantities they would need.

By the time they got to the fruit and the nuts he had quite the pile to carry back home.

“There’s so many choices!”

He chuckled, a warm and gentle sound, the feeling of Riye’s excitement radiating in the back of his head.

The crowd around them, he noticed, had now relaxed fully, his son working his magic. Reaching out into the Force, he could feel the way the market had settled, the way that the people around him had calmed at the sight, not of a warrior, but of a family.

“How about you pick your favourites,” he said, “and we’ll use them.”

He could afford to adapt the ingredients a little further, after all. Perhaps, they could make it their own. The Djarin recipe.

Riye cheered, the woman grinned and he left the stall with a much lighter bag of credits and the makings of _uj’alayi_.

Many hours later, once everything had been measured, mixed, and combined, the butter and treacle melted together and poured over the mixture to soak, the flour added in – with only a little escaping to coat their hands and hair, Din finally slid the tray into the oven.

As Mand’alor, he was entitled to certain privileges, one of which was their own private kitchen, whilst the rest of their group shared communal spaces or used the new cafeteria.

“Now what?” Riye asked, peering through the semi-transparent screen at the baking _uj’alayi_.

“Now we wait,” he said.

“For how long?”

The first signs of impatience were starting to creep in. Din couldn’t exactly blame his son, they had been working on this project all day.

“Another half hour, then we let it cool for a bit, or it’ll burn our mouths.”

“Oh,” Riye said. “That long?”

Din reached down the bond, soothing disappointment and sensing a growing hunger.

“How about we have a snack whilst we wait? You can help me write down the recipe so we can make it for Marin next year.”

Riye perked up almost immediately, scurrying over to the table and settling in for the wait, half an eye always on the oven door as they snacked on leftovers from lunch and typed up the recipe.

And later, once they had sampled the results of their hard work, Din decided that the Djarin Clan _uj’alayi_ was worth every minute of the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Mando'a:  
> Mando'ade - sons/daughters/children of Mandalore


End file.
